


Aftermath

by lifeaftermeteor



Series: Life After Meteor [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Series Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5763541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately following the close of the Eve War - and presumably, their final battle - the pilots return to MO-II to regroup and come to terms the end of the conflict.  They soon part ways to find their places in this fledgling peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vignette I

**MO-II, Medical Wing  
** 195 December 25  
2230 

_Gray_ was what registered first, and that alone was almost enough to send him spiraling backwards to the sickly sweet pull of sleep. Almost. The sedatives the doctors had given him made the pull all the more seductive. But no – he’d slept enough. 

Quatre flicked and rolled his fingers, clenching his fist to feel the dull bite of his nails into his palm in an effort to press the drugged haze back further yet. Curious, he trailed a hand down to his belly, feeling the scratch of gauze and tape. Still damaged then. Taking a foil through the abdomen would do that, he supposed, but perhaps he was stable enough now to fly.

“It’s over,” he murmured, his voice sounding hoarse and alien in his ears.

“Yes it is.”

Quatre smiled up at the ceiling and dropped his head to the side to find Trowa watching him from the doorway where he leaned against the frame. Quatre allowed himself a moment to assess the other youth – who he found weary and concerned above all – before the realization dawned that he was himself being studied and suddenly felt his hospital gown left him far too vulnerable.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

“Long enough,” came the guarded answer from the doorway. After a pause, Trowa dropped a duffel to the floor and strode into the room. Dragging a chair from the wall, he set it at Quatre’s bedside and sat, his elbows resting heavily on his knees as he leaned forward. “Long enough to know you’re still under the influence.”

“Not funny.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, “which I have to admit I’m mildly disappointed about. Most people are quite amusing when stoned on pain killers.”

Had Quatre had the energy, he would have shot the other youth a venomous glare…but as it stood, he could only roll his eyes up to the gray, gray ceiling and sigh. They shared a moment of comfortable silence then and Quatre allowed it to lull him to the edge of sleep once more. He toed the edge, but drew back to say, “You’re leaving.” An observation, and acknowledgement.

“Yes.”

“To where?”

There was a thoughtful pause before Trowa answered, “To Catherine. And the others. I’ve grown…fond of them.”

Quatre smiled then, his eyes still closed. “At least I’ll know where to find you.” It was a pleasant thought: knowing where someone was, with whom they would share their company, how they would spend their time…imagine that. Such an odd thing after all this time. Knowing that in all likelihood, someone had not fallen victim to treachery, or well-aimed ordinance, or interrogation and inevitable execution. Such a strange existence, this peace…But his head was floating again, coming dangerously close to that edge of sleep once more--

“Quat…”

He blinked his eyes open at the sound of his name. The word had been laced with…regret? But when he dropped his head to the side once more, he found the other youth’s features schooled into rigid professionalism. “Oh don’t do that with me,” he urged, a knot forming in his belly. “Never with me.” Reaching out a hand, he tugged at the other’s fingers where they hovered in the empty space between them. 

Trowa watched their fingers interlace for a moment before asking, “Never?”

Quatre offered a tired smile. “We have time now. For whatever comes. For whatever _this_ becomes.” 

There was a twitch in the other’s cheek, a half-formed thought, a lopsided smile, and the knot in Quatre’s stomach eased somewhat. At least until Trowa lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of Quatre’s knuckles. Then it became a different sort of knot entirely. 

“For whatever, then,” Trowa agreed. 

_Stay_ , came the thought as he felt a deft thumb slide across his palm. _Stay, stay, stay…_ But no. How he wanted it, after everything. How his heart ached for it, for some semblance of familiarity in this mad silence that was peace. But no. There was leaving, and family, and—oh, yes.

“Don’t miss your shuttle,” he reprimanded the other youth, who chuckled under his breath when Quatre failed to suppress a yawn. He felt more than saw Trowa release his hand, gently placing it on the bed, heard the quiet scrape of the chair as it slid back up against the wall, the rustle of the duffel climbing onto a broad shoulder. Quatre blinked his heavy-lidded eyes open one more time to watch the other retreat to the doorway.

“I’ll see you soon?” Trowa asked, a hesitance apparent in his stance that Quatre had not before seen. 

He nodded then, finally losing his battle with the sedatives in his veins. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he uttered, the sound of retreating footsteps lulling him to sleep.


	2. Vignette II

**MO-II, Mess Hall 1  
195 December 26  
0400**

_Too damn quiet_ , Duo mused. _And sterile…especially for a mess hall. Who eats here, robots? Health inspectors? Jesus…_ At least the coffee was decent, he supposed. But then again, after four cups the taste is a bit irrelevant.

And why would he be on his fourth cup since oh-three-hundred? Because of the silence. He hadn’t expected the silence. Right after the battle, the deciding battle, the end – or rather, The End, with capital letters – he’d road the adrenaline-fueled relief with all the rest of the survivors. Because The End meant peace. Finally. After everything, after all the death and running and destruction and hate that fueled more hate…everyone could have peace. 

But then the silence began and the tension in his shoulders returned. Waiting for the shoe to drop, for the floor to fall out from underneath, for it all to start up again. Because that’s what humans did, after all. Nature’s fuck-ups, the lot of ‘em. 

But that still hadn’t happened. Not yet. Rationality told him to give it time. 36 hours was hardly enough (one way or another). 

Didn’t matter though. His nerve-endings were on fire and his mind refused to rest. 

And so _that_ was why he was nursing a fourth cup of coffee at four in the morning in the empty mess hall on a resource satellite. He wasn’t sure which was worse, truth be told – the nail-biting anxiety lying awake in the darkness of his room, or sitting in this too-big, too-quiet cafeteria under the false light of the fluorescents overhead.

The door to his right slid open and inside stepped a bedraggled Heero Yuy, clothed only in standard issue gray shorts and a t-shirt. Duo bit back a laugh and an easy jab that the other’s appearance was certainly an improvement to his usual get-up. Instead, he waved at the other youth and then pointed toward the kitchen. “Coffee’s ready.”

He watched as Heero crossed the distance, running a hand through his unruly dark hair as he went. A minute passed. Then another. In his caffeine-fueled delirium, he wondered if maybe he’d imagined it, or if Heero had bid a hasty retreat when he took stock of his potential company. Just then, however, Heero remerged carrying the equally bland twin to Duo’s, steam rising from the lip of the mug.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” he asked as Heero slid into the opposite seat and rested his elbows on the mess table. “I keep waiting for incoming, personally,” he added, taking another sip from the mug in-hand. “Doesn’t help that most of the stragglers from yesterday are gone. Makes me wonder if it’s all a ruse, some way to rout the opposition. _Bīng zhě, guǐdào yě_ , bitches—” [1]

“Where are the others?” Heero asked suddenly, derailing Duo’s train of thought. 

The sound of another voice so close startled him more than he wished to admit. He covered by leaning forward and ticking off of his fingers. “Trowa left on the midnight shuttle to the L3 cluster. I think he’s planning on catching up with the circus crew after that. Quat should be down in sick bay. He was still really out of it with the pain meds last I checked, but he should be cleared for flight today. He told me yesterday he’s heading home – apparently owes the family some sort of explanation of where he’s been for the past couple years. I respectfully disagree but that’s my prerogative, not his,” he paused to take the mug back up in hand to cradle it between his fingertips, his eyes unfocused over Heero’s shoulder. “Haven’t seen Wufei. Think he’d cut out on us so soon?” he asked, taking a swig.

“Wufei’s always gone his own way. I wouldn’t take it to heart.”

Duo smirked, his gaze returning to meet his own. “’S’pose so.”

They slipped into silence then, and Duo was pointedly aware that it lacked the suffocation it had held before. Quiet, calm. Alright, yes, good. “So what about you, huh?” he asked after a time. “Got any plans? Going to hitch a ride with the good princess or disappear into the shadows? Either way, you kinda deserve it – saving Earth from almost certain cataclysmic destruction with a well-aimed, last-ditch-effort shot, after all.”

Heero seemed to consider this for a time. He stared down into the black of his coffee but Duo doubted he found any answers in the ripples there. “I never intended to live this long. But now that I have, I plan to continue doing so.”

“A wise decision.”

“I just…I never…thought about the possibility. Now that it’s become reality…I’m not…I don’t know…” Heero sighed and looked up. Their eyes met and shared an understanding. “Where do people go…when there’s no one waiting for them?”

Duo shrugged. “Wherever they want, really. You could travel—”

“I’ve done too much of that already.”

“—or find somewhere quiet – or loud. City. Countryside. Colony. Doesn’t really matter.”

“And be fighting the urge to leave again in a matter of days. No thank you.”

Duo laughed. “ _Now_ you’re just being difficult. Heero, you’re alive. So kudos to you – you got Part One down. As for the rest of it…that’s up to you, man. But…I mean, if you’re looking for something to do…Hilde and I are heading back to L2-V10328 once she’s up and at ‘em again.”

“L2?”

“Yeah – her uncle owns a chop shop and salvage yard there. Good people. Good work – lots of work. So…if you’re looking for a place to crash while you figure out Part Two…you’re welcome to come with.”

“I—I’m grateful for the offer, but I don’t know how I’ll be of any use.”

Duo waited for the punch line. He didn’t get one. And so he smirked, painting his voice in biting sarcasm, and countered, “This from the guy who fieldstrips Deathscythe’s vital components and retrofits them to his own suit. Overnight, no less. Please. Do go on. Tell me how you would be of no use doing exactly that but for the Schbeikers and above the table.” He shook his head and grinned. “Dumbass.”

Heero watched him then. He was good at that – reading his face, studying the corners of his eyes, watching to see if his jaw twitched a certain way. Duo didn’t mind – he could count less than ten people who could stand up under that level of scrutiny and happily counted himself among them. When Heero didn’t respond, Duo swallowed down the last of his coffee and stood. “Look – shuttle leaves tom— _today_ at 1500. Whether you’re on it or not,” he told him, clapping Heero’s shoulder as he walked behind him before threading his hands through his own hair. “It’s your choice, but for what it’s worth,” he paused to glance back – perhaps for the last time – at his brother in arms, “I’d rather see you on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] 兵者，詭道也Bīng zhě, guǐdào yě – “All war is (based on) deception.” Sun Zi, Art of War, Chapter 1, Verse 18.


End file.
